by JayneFresina
"You may as well meet the rest of the staff now," said Mrs. Palgrave, leading her into the servants' hall. "They're curious about you, so it's best to get the speculation out of the way."
Suddenly she was surrounded by faces, all of them looking her up and down, much as the housekeeper had done. If she were not accustomed to being studied, an item of curiosity, she might have found it overwhelming.
In addition to the butler— a very dour-looking gentleman named Mr. Bede— there were two footmen, three housemaids, a cook, two kitchen maids and a scullery maid.
"There is also the coachman, Mr. Blythe. He and his son look after the horses and they live in the mews."
"The mews?"
"The stables behind this row of houses. It serves the residents of the esplanade. Mr. Blythe and his son live in an apartment over the stables, so you will rarely see them, but they eat their meals here in the house."
Mr. Hart must be very wealthy, she realized, to maintain a house with so many servants and enough horses to require the help of two men in the stables. Her own family was not poor, by any means; they were comfortably middle-class, she supposed, but they lived frugally, no staff, certainly no horses. She could not imagine how her mother might manage with staff. Mrs. Astrid Greene would drive herself mad, following them around to be sure they cleaned as she wanted it done. Or else she could run herself ragged cleaning before they did, not wanting anybody to see dirt in her house. In either case, it would completely undo the point of having help.
"Miss Greene has come to us from Cambridgeshire to be a governess for Mr. Hart," the housekeeper announced. "I hope you will see to it that she is welcomed and soon settled in."
"You look young to be a governess, Miss Greene," the butler spoke in the solemn, ponderous tones of one who, although he spoke rarely, expected his words to be paid due deference when he used them. He had a habit of chafing his fingertips together, just as a cricket would rub its wings together, and she knew this at once because even though he held his hands behind his back, she could hear the dry, worn skin rasping back and forth, in ridges formed by the repetitive action.
"But I'm older than I was, Mr. Bede," she replied, remembering something her father liked to say when asked his age. "I was younger yesterday, I'll be older tomorrow and in a week's time I'll be even younger today."
The butler looked slightly confused, but mostly just miffed. Head up, hands still behind his back, he returned to his pantry with the stately stride of one following a funeral hearse.
The housemaids whispered and giggled together, one of the footmen— not haughty William— gave her a sly wink, and the scullery maid stared, open-mouthed, until Mrs. Palgrave shouted at her, "Kitty, you're catching flies again!" Nobody else had anything to say.
A sudden loud jangle pierced the silence, as one of the bells on the wall abruptly began bouncing on its wire. The staff all moved as if awoken from a trance and the kitchen became a hive of activity again, with Ever being the only bee who didn't have a job to do.
"They'll take a while to warm up to you, Miss Greene. You're not exactly one of them, you see," the housekeeper explained as she led the way into her own cozy parlor and shut the door. "They'll be wary of you at first. You're above them, being educated and the like. Besides, a governess with no children in the house, makes you a bit of an oddity."
"I hope they'll soon realize I'm harmless." She laughed lightly, but the housekeeper didn't join her.
"And Mr. Bede has no sense of humor. You may as well know that from the start."
"I rather guessed. I hope I didn't get off on the wrong foot."
The housekeeper shrugged. "It's inevitable. He distrusts all women, Miss Greene, and I'm sure he would have found fault with whatever you said. Never mind. He'll adjust to another female on staff eventually. He tends to feel flustered around young ladies and, of course, he's outnumbered at present." She nodded to a chair on one side of her fireplace. "Do sit down, Miss Greene."
"Thank you."
She watched the other lady pour tea from a pot on the low table between them. There were no windows in this basement room, but it was warm and colorful, decorated with a great deal of chintz. An embroidered sampler, framed and hung upon the wall, pronounced "Cleanliness is next to Godliness"— the housekeeper's favorite maxim, obviously. Over the mantle there was a photograph of the old queen, grim in her black widow's weeds, and beside that her son, the present King Edward VII. A colorful rag rug brightened the stone floor, while a coal fire in the hob grate exhaled a very welcome, bone-warming heat.
"This is a charming room, Mrs. Palgrave."
There was no response to that. The housekeeper clearly had something to get off her chest and she took this chance, in the privacy of her parlor, to immediately broach the point. There was no time for polite chit-chat. "You do know the master of the house is a bachelor, do you not, Miss Greene?"
Ever carefully took the cup and saucer she was offered. "Actually I didn't. I know nothing about Mr. Hart."
"Nothing? You took the post knowing nothing?"
It was, she knew, strange that she would accept a position with scant knowledge of what she walked into, and the truth was she had no real explanation for it. Ever had noticed the advertisement one day at breakfast, while her father read the paper with a page folded back. It had caught her eye and her fancy, because although it was wedged in among the requests for a "good plain cook", kitchen maids of "unblemished moral character", cures for chilblains, and testaments to the efficacy of various "antibilious" pills, it was not the usual smudged print crushed into a few lines. It was decorated with scrollwork and the delightful image of a seahorse.Some time ago, when she was a child, Ever had found a small silver and enamel brooch, shaped like a seahorse. Although she could not remember where or how it came into her possession, clues of its provenance had drifted reluctantly from her mother's mind, for Astrid greeted every appearance of the seahorse pin with a lowered brow, a tight mouth and the dark thought, I wish she'd lose that wretched thing. Must I always be reminded and punished?
Meanwhile, her father looked at the seahorse and thought with sadness, Astrid is too hard upon herself. She still takes the blame for Ever vanishing that day. She'll never forgive herself for that one moment of inattention. But we must move onward and put that behind us.
So Ever knew the brooch had a connection to the very first occurrence of her "illness". If only she could remember more than a few sunlit flashes from their trip to the seaside.
But there, printed in the newspaper eighteen years later, Ever saw a seahorse, just like her brooch.
Across the top of the advertisement four words in heavy ink, asked the question:
Are you the one?
Below that,
Are you tired of the monotony and eager for a new challenge?
Yes, she had wanted to shout in excitement. Oh, yes!
From that moment onward she had been unable to concentrate on anything else. In fact, she was such a bundle of feverish nerves that her mother thought she was coming down with one of her "turns" and tried sending her to bed.
Abruptly snapped out her daydreams by the crack of a teaspoon laid in a saucer, Ever realized that Mrs. Palgrave was looking at her, waiting for an explanation, so she said, "The advertisement claimed that he required a respectable and proper lady from a good family, well educated, with a knowledge of proper etiquette. That she should be of excellent moral character, unattached and willing to instruct an occasionally unruly child. Naturally, when I wrote to the newspaper and Mr. Hart responded, hiring me immediately, I supposed the aforementioned child was one of his—"
"And you do not know how he made his name and fortune?"
"No. I'd never heard of Mr. Gabriel Hart until he answered my letter. The advertisement itself had no name attached to it, and applicants were asked to send their letters to the newspaper, I assume for the sake of his privacy."
Mrs. Palgrave nodded. "I only ask... because young women are sometimes curious
and come to gawp. It isn't rare to have them turn up on the doorstep, seeking a glimpse of the master of the house. Sometimes they even masquerade as potential housemaids and the like. You wouldn't believe the antics. In my day young ladies had more dignity and decorum."
This was steadily becoming more intriguing. Ever loved a good, dark mystery.
"That's what happens, I suppose, when one has a certain sort of infamy," the housekeeper continued. "I can tell you, I've had to send a few trollops on their way out of the back door."
"Really? Good gracious!"
"Mr. Hart made his fortune with his fists, Miss Greene. I can't say it's a sport I hold with— young men beating each other bloody for money— but that was the way he got his start."
"I see," Ever muttered, spilling some tea in her saucer. "I had no idea."
"He grew up in poverty, in the rookeries of London. Bare-knuckle fighting was his way out of all that, as he likes to say. He made a name for himself with the travelling fairs, before he got put into the big boxing fights and started winning trophies. Travelled all over the country and then abroad, to the continent. Took the World Heavyweight Championship title a few years in a row. Performed in exhibits and demonstrations the world over. Was even called upon to teach the skill, privately, to some very wealthy gentlemen, high society clients...kings and princes among them." She paused and then glanced over at the photograph of King Edward on her mantle. "I'm not supposed to say, who, of course." It was clear the housekeeper took pride in her employer's achievements, despite her disapproval of pugilism in general. "So earlier this year, when he came home from a tour of America, he bought this house, the carriage and horses...wanted to show society how far he'd come."
"I wonder why he chose Cromer instead of a place like London." Although popular for a day out, Cromer was not the most fashionable of destinations.
"He likes to be near the sea— the Norfolk coast especially. Says its unapologetically wild and windblown, like him, not all tame sunshine and cream teas, not all prettied up."
"Yes, I see." Ever nodded slowly.
"He's done well for himself, and no mistake. But the method by which he made his fortune causes some folk to look at his achievements with a less than complimentary eye." The housekeeper paused to open a tall, narrow tin from the tray. "Biscuit, Miss Greene?"
Ever took one, feeling very privileged to be told all this and receive a biscuit. After that rocky beginning, Mrs. Palgrave, it seemed, was softening toward her.
"Not everybody in this world appreciates a hard-working man," the elder lady went on. "Some believe that we should stay in the social sphere to which we were born, that we shouldn't have aspirations above that for fear of upsetting the balance of the world. Then there are those who suffer prurient curiosity about the man himself. The...you know...the corporeal side...if you get my drift, Miss Greene."
Ever waited, uncertain what to say. The pictures she received from the housekeeper's thoughts were blush-worthy to say the least.
"A prize-fighter is known for his... physical attributes. A certain dangerous prowess, which, so I am informed, makes him irresistible prey to a particular type of persistent and unprincipled female." The housekeeper stirred her tea with a fierce motion and pursed her lips as she watched the ensuing vortex. "During his time in the ring he knocked out quite a few opponents and some never recovered. With notoriety of that sort there are drawbacks. Such as those nosy young ladies I told you about." She arched a thin, grey eyebrow as she sipped her tea. "Not only young ones either. Ladies old enough to know better. Married ones too."
"I think I understand, Mrs. Palgrave." Ever tried not to look too interested. Wouldn't want to be mistaken for another of those "prurient" inquisitives.
"But you say you knew nothing about the master when you answered his advertisement?"
Finally she realized what worried the housekeeper. Now the thoughts she had picked up on began to make better sense. "Oh, Mrs. Palgrave, he's quite safe from me. I knew nothing about Mr. Hart before I came, and certainly didn't come here to gawp at the poor fellow." It was touching, she thought, that the housekeeper was so protective of her employer.
"I didn't mean to insult you by supposing that, Miss Greene, but we can never be too careful, you know. Especially since Mr. Hart impulsively hired you without consulting me. Not that I expect to be called upon for my advice in every matter, you understand, but he doesn't have experience in hiring staff. Bad enough he has these sudden ideas— a governess, indeed— but when he acts upon them too without caution..." The lady shook her head and sipped her tea.
"He's never mentioned needing a governess before?"
"Never. Not in my hearing. But he sometimes has these fancies that come and go. Doesn't have enough worries to keep him busy since he retired from boxing, if you ask me. Of course, he has no adult responsibilities, no family to take care of. Just friends from his fairground and traveling circus days." She sighed. "Mr. Hart calls them his family, but they're all wayfarers and gypsies. They don't settle, don't put down roots. Marriage might make him stay put in one spot a little longer. Make my life easier at least. But a bachelor has nothing to tie him down and while I believe a little anchor would not go amiss in his life, Mr. Hart prefers to drift at leisure."
"I'm sure he does," Ever replied wryly. "So he has never married or even come close to it?" She wondered how old he was. If he was retired he must be of some age, she reasoned.
"No doubt he should have been married several times over," came the curt reply. "But he always escapes that knot. A proper Harry Houdini when it comes to those entanglements." Then, as if she realized she'd said too much about her employer, the housekeeper hurriedly laid out the justification for his behavior, "But that is what all men do before they mature and come to their senses. They must sow their oats, apparently. More tea, Miss Greene? Another biscuit?"
"No, thank you." Ever watched the lady pour another cup for herself. "It sounds as if you have known Mr. Hart for a long time."
"Oh, Mr. Bede and I have traveled with him a fair bit. We set up households for him, whenever he let his feet linger for a spell, but this is the largest place he's taken on, the first time he's purchased rather than rented, and I did wonder if he was finally tired of moving about. He's been here almost a full year now, and that's something of a record." She sighed. "But the urge to move on again could hit him any day, so that's why I try to keep on top of things, to know what he might think up next. I have to be vigilant. The smooth running of this household is up to me...and Mr. Bede, of course... but mostly to me. It's no sinecure keeping up with Mr. Hart when he never slows down. I'm getting too old for all the chasing."
"Yes, I can see how it might be difficult. According to Dr. Isaac Newton, an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an outside force."
The housekeeper didn't seem to be listening. She sighed again into her teacup, the weariness of her life oozing out in these little gusts of despair. "Always has to be moving and busy. Cannot simply be still and enjoy life. There's even been talk of a—" she shuddered and closed her eyes briefly, "a motor car."
"Oh."
"Fascinated with them, he is. Enthralled by any new bit of invention. As I told Mr. Hart, I shall hand in my notice if such a beast ever comes near this house."
Ever felt a sudden wave of nausea. A twinge that began in her chest seized her entire body in a powerfully painful grip for a moment.
"Are you alright, Miss Greene?"
Had she swallowed her tea too quickly? Was it nerves from her journey? Or just the fact that she hadn't eaten anything since yesterday? She slowed her breathing and the pain eased. "I have heard they can be quite dangerous," she muttered. "Motor cars."
"Of course they are. Why can't men be content? Why must they always be in a rush to get about. What's wrong with a nice, leisurely walk?"
"I quite agree."
"Who knows what he'll come up with next? What new thing must he have
at any cost? I cannot have the master of the house taking these matters into his own hands. Today it's an obscene statue, a telephone device, and a governess, what will it be next? Will he start hiring housemaids without a word to me? Placing orders himself with the grocer? Redecorating the drawing room with that dreadful stuff they call modern art? And then it'll be but a few short steps to one of those devilish machines. Death traps, that's what they are."
Ever struggled to follow, sensing that they were, perhaps, getting to the root of the lady's concerns— and that her arrival that day was only a part of it. Perhaps the straw that broke the camel's back. "Ob...obscene statue, Mrs. Palgrave?"
The housekeeper got up to throw another shovel of coal onto her fire. "I'm to move with the times, he says. Laughing. Laughing as if my consternation is the funniest thing in the world. I ask you, what is a good, god-fearing woman supposed to think when her master brings such a thing into the house? He calls it art. I call it filth." She stirred up the fire and then returned to her chair, perching stiffly. "He says we shouldn't be ashamed of the human body, that it's nothing to be afraid of. But he doesn't have to manage a gaggle of giggling housemaids when it's time to dust the parts of that thing."
"Mr. Hart has purchased a nude statue? Well, I suppose if it was acceptable to the Greeks and Romans—"
"I don't have a lot to say about Greeks and Romans," the housekeeper gave a disapproving sniff, "and I know there are certain ancient pieces propped up in museums, Miss Greene. Folk with nothing else to do on their day off, or those wishing to escape the rain, pay a fee to wander about and look at them. If it's history that's one matter. But this...this latest acquisition of Mr. Hart's has nothing to do with ancient history." For a moment the housekeeper looked as if she might bring up her tea and biscuits.
